


Almost An Accident

by Monstrosibee



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, college shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:30:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monstrosibee/pseuds/Monstrosibee
Summary: “Remind me to tell you about the time that Ratchet and I almost got hitched in school. THAT was a close one.”





	Almost An Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Spurred on by a throwaway line I wrote in my longfic, Champion.

The pleasant buzz of engex in his processor had long since given way to a blurry haze, shutting down most of the color processors in Ratchet's optics and making everything a little funnier than it should have been. He lolled against the surprisingly comfortable cushions of the couch in...whose apartment was this again? Some other med student in his year...maybe Suture or Driver. He couldn't remember. It didn't really matter though, because right now most of the party had passed out on the floor, so whoever the apartment belonged to was probably unconscious as well.

Somewhere nearby in the engex fueled fog, a door slammed loud enough to bring Ratchet more towards reality for just a moment. He bolted straight up, squinting through the confetti bits that had somehow spilled behind the lenses of his optics, and took another long swallow from the bottle of Viscous Carbon clutched in his unsteady left hand. Essentially water with some engex mixed in, but inebriants weren't cheap and students weren't rich.

"Ratch, you said you weren't going to get this totaled again until at least after midterms." A frowning blue faceplate entered his field of vision, slowly dulling to gray as another one of his color processors sputtered. Blurr crossed his arms across the front of his chassis, hiding the school logo painted there from sight. "I told the dorm head that I was just going out just to grab some rust chips and a six pack of sweetened energon from the corner, but if you come back drunk for the fourth time this month, he's going to bust a tire."

"'M not that drunk." Ratchet sat completely up, then tipped over to the other side, giggling as his helm clunked against the mech who was asleep in the other corner of the couch. "'Sides it was Wheeljack's idea."

Blurr rolled his eyes, tapping his foot with impatience. "I know for a fact that all Wheeljack suggested was to come over and see if any of the other people here were selling some wind-down, which I also don't approve of, but he went home as soon as he got some and didn't get drunk out of his processor, because he knows he has CLASS."

The med student waved a dismissive hand, still leaning against the sleeping mech like they were furniture. "Wheeljack is out of his processor on 'ther stuff, Blurr. An' I don' have to go to class 'till like, 12 tomorrow. I could get HITCHED in the time I still have." He tipped the bottle back again, trying to chase the last drops down. "An' at least engex is legal."

"Only if you're doing an Iacon'an endura cere....cerm...rite." The large mech against which Ratchet had been laying straightened up, letting him slide off. He was big, much bigger than either of them, with handsome square angles and a dimpled cheerful face, even if the mist of engex hovered in his optics. "Most other cities...have dif'rent rites. I heard you gotta...you gotta bathe in hot oil fer three days b'fore the bonding in Praxus."

"Nuh-uh." Hiccupping with delight, Ratchet spun his tires out of sync, toppling back almost off the couch so that Blurr had to catch him or risk letting him smash the nearby helm of an unconscious mini-bot. "I've met Praxians. Half 'f 'em are dumb as scrap metal, an' the other half got a crowbar up their aft."

Though his color processors were largely offline, Ratchet found something very appealing in the way the dim apartment lights caught this stranger's lustrous plating, like a matte finish had just been applied. Scooting closer, the strange mech leaned heavily on Ratchet's shoulder, and he could smell something fancier than Viscous Carbon on his vents. "Yeah, but they know howta hold a party, fer sure. If you want a fast rite...mmm, I'd say Perihex. You can get it done in like, 12 cycles there."

Blurr rolled his eyes and heaved Ratchet back onto the couch, dusting his hands together. "Well, you two have fun, I'm going home. If you get in before I wake up, Ratch, please don't turn the light on." The racer stalked from the apartment, although the fact that he had to pick around sleeping partiers ruined the effect somewhat.

"12 cycles?" Ratchet revved his engine, sliding back so that his feet were in the stranger's lap and his back against the armrest of the couch. "Don't believe that. I couldn' weld a finger joint in 12 cycles."

The stranger tapped a tune out on his feet, engine haltingly starting and stopping again. "Could show you. 'S not hard. Part of my studies for my captaincy degree; gotta know lots about different places. Have to have a primal chanter, though."

Despite the weight of his drunken thoughts, Ratchet was interested; he liked learning stuff he didn't know about, and this mech seemed to know a lot of stuff he didn't. "Hey, Talon," he called haltingly over his shoulder. A long gangly bot raised his head drearily off the floor, squinting through optics that weren't quite dilated to the same size. "You still workin' on a primal chanting cert?"

Talon hesitated, as though he hadn't quite caught up to his surroundings yet, then nodded. "Mmm. We jus' covered bondin' rites a couple orns ago. Never thought you were interested..."

"Am now," Ratchet replied, swinging his legs off the couch and hopping to his feet. A little too fast, as well, because he stumbled and tripped over several sleeping bots, only managing to steady himself against the cheap cracked TV set in the wall across from the couch. The boxy stranger stood too, though he was a tad sturdier on his feet, only wobbling a little. He was actually massive at full height, with a chassis like a squared off boulder and hands big enough to hold a mini-bot's head in just one, though something about his gentle smile told Ratchet he would never do that.

Hm, he forgot how handsy he started to feel when he was drunk. Placing the empty bottle down on the chassis of a nearby sleeping bot, he picked his way over to Talon, pulling the primal chanter up by one hand. "Big guy here says a Perihex bondin' rite takes 12 cycles."

Talon frowned, his faceplates scrunched in concentration. "If your good at your job, you can do it in 12 cycles. Perihex chanting is hard, though. I can pro'ly do it drunk, but only pro'ly." He looked around, like some kind of startled cybercat. "Who am I bondin'?"

"You c'n just use me 'n the medic." The tall stranger picked his way over the sleeping bots to stand next to Ratchet and Talon. He was big enough to rest an elbow on Ratchet's head, but he just pulled a datapad from his subspace, scrolling through it until he settled on something. "Tha's the version the P'r'exian speed priests use."

"One page?" Flaring enormous sharp edged finials, Talon pushed aside several bots near them with his feet, ignoring their irritated groans. "W'ever. Jus' stand here. Facin' each other, then hold hands'n cross your arms."

Ratchet and the stranger obeyed, barely able to focus on each other's faces as they did. Talon chanted in old Cybertronian for about a minute, occasionally pausing to sound out an unknown word, then raised a hand. "Th' two parties mus' declare their in...intention with a kiss, then state their chosen name an' forgename."

It was messy, like most drunk kisses are. The stranger bumped his denta into Ratchet's at first, then hung the brim of his helm on his medic's crest, but they got into the right shape eventually. His lips were heavy and warm on Ratchet's own, and the med student could feel the soft brush of teeth against his open mouth. The whiff of expensive engex was even stronger coming straight from his mouth instead of vents, and it left behind the taste of inebriant aging pipes and flavor shavings on his glossa. 

"Thunderclash 'f Ibex."

"Ratchet of Iacon."

"Is in SO MUCH slag because I was in recharge!" The front door of the apartment slammed open and a tall thin jet strode across the threshold, broad shoulders stiff with fury. Blurr trailed in, looking rather like he regretted rousing Ratchet's other roommate from his slumber, trying not to look at either of the drunk partiers from where they stood amongst the unconscious bots. "We've got a presentation tomorrow, Ratchet! I refuse to explain to Professor Hotline why you are absent again!"

Ratchet let go of Thunderclash' hands, his engine rumbling in a stuttery outrage. "Don' tell me wha' I can an' can't do, Pharma! I know fer a FACT you were tucked up 'n recharge during our last group surgery with some lil' racer from the drag strip down the road." He tripped gracelessly over another bot, slamming into three others on the ground, then snarled his engine louder, waking several of those laying in the hall. When he glanced over at them, his vision swam in a suddenly shift of movement, and he had to resist the impulse to purge all over the floor.

Before Pharma could yell again, Blurr hopped to Ratchet's side, tucking an arm under his shoulder to help him to his feet. "Sorry, Ratch. Didn't mean to get you yelled at. Just didn't want you ending up dead in a ditch somewhere."

"'S not your fault." Looking over his shoulder, the med student waved at Thunderclash. "Have to do this again some time! Love'y kiss, though! Comm me, I sent you my pers'nal number!" Thunderclash waved back, a little stunned by the sudden commotion, and then the door slammed behind them.


End file.
